Day 1: "The Beasting" 9hrs (walk-time)

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We had spent the night in Lisbon. In a dingy, half finished hostel that would grow on us as the hours passed. The morning came with a mild hangover and some excitement. Now it really did feel real.

We discussed the possibility of getting a bus out of Lisbon's vast concrete sprall but came to the simple conclusion of, go hard or go home.



So it began. We geared up and walked out of the hostel. Carrying more than a third of our respective bodyweights each. Exceeding the reccomended maximum weight for sane travel.

It was quite difficult to maintain a substantial pace on the crowded city streets but we soon found ourselves in, what we thought was, the general vicinity of the starting point.

Two hours later we had still not found it.

The unfortunate downside for the over-confident backpacker in this part of Lisbon is the endless up and down of hills combined with cobbled streets that appear to have been designed by a sadistic old world architect with a particular distated for overloaded pilgrims.

We found it incredibley disconcerting that of the scores of people we spoke to, almost no-one was even aware that the trail existed. Except one old Portugese man sitting alone in a quiet, smokey bar on a long forgotten side street.

After eventually finding the start of the trail we bagan walking... after already racking up around 10kms of unnessicary rambles....

I would like to spin yarns to you of how the trail takes you through some of the most beautiful areas of Lisbon. However, it doesn't.

We were led through a long streetch of run down, rotting houses and industrial estates. some of which stank of raw sewage in the day's heat.

We passed a public toilet in a small square and decided to relieve ourselves. as we left we noticed a peculiar fellow taking photographs of the public toilets themselves. Clearly not an oficial of any sort. We invented a story to entertain ourselves about how he spent the day researching for a small business taking tourists on tours of Lisbon's public facilities. We named him "Toilet Boy"

Upon entering a wider and more industrial part of Lisbon's endless outskirts we stopped to go into a supermarket. I waited outside with the bag's whilst kim went inside. I was approuched by a young man and asked if I had a lighter. I obliged an we began talking. Kim returned from his expedition and joined the conversation. The man had a very distinct name. "Hotel". As in, a hotel to pass the night in. We had an interesting conversation with him over a beer, said our good-byes and continued on our way.

We entered a suburb, who's name we never knew. It was quite pleasant, trees overhanging a long waterfeature that ran the legnth of the boulevard. Local people were calming relaxing in the shade, talking amoungst themselves in hushed and unhurried tones. We we in the real Lisbon now. This is where the locals spent their free time. not a hint of tourism.

It was here that we were discussing our interation with hotel and about how these little occourances were what make travelling interesting. Kim aptly named them "side-quests"

We passed a bridge that streatched over the river Tejo to some unknown town. A bridge like none we'd ever seen before. Kilometers long. Kim tried to photograph it in it's eternity but it would not fit in the shot. It was the largest feat of engineering we had ever seen.

As we walked up the boulevard, completely unaware that we had missed our trail markers, we slowly progessed on a linear tour of Lisbon's class system. From the rotten inner city, through to the middle class suburbs and now approuching a hotel of glass. Hotel workers we unpacking the luggage of a well suited man whilst he stood around breathing.

By chance we re-found our trail markers and were led onto a wooden walk-way that spanned a distance along the giant river Tejo's mouth. After a short rest, we were gearing up and a jogger passed us by. A well built bald man with a focused and solomn look on his face. steadily plodding along at a pace that never faltered. We decided that he was not actually a human but a bot. Programed to endlessly run so as to generate an atmosphere of health and fitness. We named him "Running Man" and decided that Toilet Boy was a malfunctioning tourist bot.

We observed before us a coastline of urbanity. Forever stretching on and tormenting us with the possibilty of walking until Dawn. by this point the trail markers were not well placed or maintained, always of a diferent style. We wandered off course and ended up in another industrial estate. After a while of worrying how we were going to walk out of Lisbon's torturous urban infinity we discovered our trail marker. Leading off down a small river into a green valley. It would be an understatement to say we were relieved.



We walked down the track a while and found a nice spot to take our shoes off and snack a little. An old man passed us by and we bid him good afternoon. Strangley, he thanked us with great emphisis, upon furthur enquiry he told us that he walks that route nearly every day and barely anyone says hello on that long stretch. he left and we pondered how he must have seen the place change during his lifetime. He would have made a great interview but we had to clear the greater Lisbon area.



Toward the end of the pathway and near the next town we found a large abandonded house and decided to check it out. I ditched my gear and scoped the place. Somewhat dirty and slightly rank. We decide to camp in the neighbouring field, again abandoned.

As we hauled our gear over the Wall and made our way to camp we startled a rabbit which in turn alarmed a nearby dog which alerted us to the presence of a human the next plot over. We snuck off back to the road and waited for him to leave.

Eventually we found ourselves camped in the field eating dinner and falling nearly into a coma after nine hours of solid walking. Our feet all but destroyed by the concrete and asphalt of the city.

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